Christmas
by AsWeAreNow
Summary: America invites England to spend Christmas with him. They reconcile— and while it's about two hundred fifty years too late for their countries, it's just fine for them. No slash.


America had invited England to come over for Christmas. Usually he wouldn't, but he got pretty lonely during the holidays. Last year had been the worst, since he was all on his own (_wasn't like he had any neighbours or anything_) and so he'd half-heartedly invited England, not expecting him to say yes.

England, however, asked where he should fly in. America sent his address again, since England made a point to never remember it.

The next day, he went off to buy a ton of fruit. Usually he didn't have food at home, preferring to go through drive-thrus because it was cheaper in the short-term and he didn't care about the long-term. However, he obviously needed to communicate that he was better than England, and drive-thrus wouldn't do that for him.

(Linebreak.) 

America reflected on everything he'd done wrong in his life while he was driving to the airport to pick England up— starting, of course, with choosing England as a colony (although he wasn't sure that he'd consider that something he'd done wrong, because _France_, and because in the end it really wasn't his choice), and ending with inviting England for Christmas.

Come to think of it, a lot of everything he did involved England or Japan. While America would've said he was friends with the whole world (except Cuba, and maybe North Korea as well), in all reality his only friends were England and Japan, and the rest of the world was well aware of that. They didn't have any right to judge him on such a thing, it was decided, but they also decided they had every right to judge him on everything else.

(Linebreak.)

They sat in silence for awhile as America drove. England stared straight ahead. America peeked at him a few times. He turned to look at England one more time during a red light before slowly taking one of his hands off the wheel to turn on the radio. Christmas music shook the car. England jumped, and America made a face and quickly turned it back down.

"Why do they bother with _Let it Snow _over here?" England asked. "We're in Nevada."

"It snows a bit. Not often here, though. Just a bit."

(Linebreak.)

Later that day, America dragged England out to get ice cream. It was cold outside, and England didn't see why they were getting icecream. America decided he was walking slowly. "Come on, England! Hurry up! The faster you are, the sooner we get ice cream!"

And then he grabbed England's hand gently— England's heart leapt, and the word 'brothers' flashed through his mind— and then adjusted his grip as they were walking so he was clutching England's wrist. _You-aren't-my-brother-but-you-need-to-hurry-the-fuck-up _was the impression it seemed to give off.

They reached the place America wanted to go to.

And then America was gone.

"Alfred? Alfred!" England looked around wildly, but goddamnit; there were only stoners and gamblers around him. "Alfred!!!"

And then America came back, carrying two ice cream cones. "England! I got you some ice cream! I got you chocolate because I figured— England? Are you okay?" He asked cautiously. That was the same tone America had used when England had a fever during WW2— as if he was too naive to understand what was going on.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Thank you." He fished out some money from his pocket.

"No, it's fine. You only have pounds anyway." America sighed. "Why did you say yes to coming here?" He asked.

"My boss forced me to," England lied, "even though he had no right to do such a thing."

America nodded, as if that made sense.

(Linebreak.)

The next few days passed quickly, and then it was Christmas Eve, which posed a rather obvious problem.

It started with the fact that America didn't have any decorations up by Christmas Eve. England bit back a sharp retort of 'I didn't raise you that way,' reminding himself that America could do what he wanted— and also that for the two of them, it was better to pretend the colonial days never happened at all. _It was better to pretend we hadn't been connected until WW1, actually_, England thought. _And even then, _he added bitterly, _he forgets things so easily. He always moves forward. I wonder if he even remembers being a colony or if he just knows it happened._

(Linebreak.)

America and England both wanted to prove something to the other.

For England, it was that he was doing okay without America. Actually, he wanted it to seem like he was faring even better; like he hadn't missed America at all. After thinking for a long time, he had decided that he would get America something small; something to show he didn't really care. And that was exactly what he would do.

For America, it was that he was extremely happy to not be a colony, and that he was happier than ever without England there; like he hadn't missed England at all. After thinking for a long time, he had decided he would go all out just for England. And that was exactly what he would do.

While none of it was exactly true, it was still kind of true.

There was another problem.

America had wanted to decorate with England, but after dinner on Christmas Eve, England had went upstairs to his guest bedroom and refused to come out. It wasn't like America was begging him or anything, but he did ask multiple times if England wanted to hang out, all of which were met with 'no'. Not even a 'no, I'm tired, sorry'— just 'no'.

(Linebreak.)

America woke up at three in the morning, a tradition of his for Christmas Day. He dragged all of the decorations from the basement and put the Christmas tree together and decorated. And then he put the rest of the decorations up, everywhere. Once he was sure all of the first floor was thoroughly decorated, he put all of the storage bins back, washed his hands, and began making the food.

Everything was done by eight in the morning. America set the last plate down, and then bounced up the stairs and threw open England's door, shaking him awake. "Ah! What is— What... You should knock before you enter rooms, America! And I don't want to get up." He added.

America dragged him downstairs, and then made him sit down at the dining table.

As they ate breakfast, England mumbled quietly, "This is very... elaborate. Thank you for breakfast, America."

For breakfast, America had made a few different types of meat: sausage, bacon, patties— and a lot of other things too, like pancakes and toast. He had probably literally made enough food to feed an army, but it was just the two of them. "How did you put up all the decorations and make all this food so quickly?"

"So, um, why did you actually say yes? Obviously your boss can't force you— he can't do that and you're a stubborn bastard. So why'd you really come here?" America asked, ignoring England's question.

"It was either you or France," England grumbled finally. That was partially the truth— France had invited him. However, England normally would avoid America like the plague during holidays. He would rather spend everyday with France for the rest of his life than spend the holidays with a former colony, which begged a question: _Why was he spending Christmas with a former colony?_

And then he thought of a better question, one he could throw back at America. "What about you? Why did you invite me?"

"I guess I just wanted to see what I was missing," he said. America seemed to quickly realize what that implied, because as soon as the words were out of his mouth he added, "You know, I usually spend Christmas alone in New York. I just wanted a nice change of pace."

"And you couldn't have done that by yourself in Nevada?"

"Nope. I can only do it with someone else in Nevada. Anyway, do you wanna go to a restaurant later?"

"Restaurants are open?"

"Only one. There's this one dude I knew— Wait, fuck. He's not alive anymore. Goddamnit. Nevermind."

"I'll put the kettle on."

America looked over incredulously. "What?"

"What? Do you not have a kettle?" _Wouldn't be the first disappointment of this trip_, England thought.

"A dude just died. It kinda sucks, but I'm not— why do you wanna make tea?"

"Well, you're upset, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Do you have a kettle?" England questioned, going through his cupboards.

"No. Just heat up the water."

"How?" England asked.

"A'ight, so I'm gonna teach you something real important, okay, you take the cup—," America reached over England and took a cup— "You fill it with water, and you put it in the microwave—,"

"No! You know what, no tea. I'm going to buy you a kettle tomorrow."

"I don't want a kettle."

"What if you want to make tea and you're left with— with this?" England asked. "How am I supposed to say I raised you right when you're doing this shit?" He pointed at the cup in the microwave.

"Okay, okay, fine."

(Linebreak.)

England went back to the guestroom. America spent a few hours playing video games before deciding that England needed to hang out with him.

"England! Wanna play some video games?" He yelled.

"No, I'm quite alright."

And so America found himself going into his storage room. He didn't like going in there, and he definitely didn't want to go in there when England was in his house and could see him and think he was being nostalgic. Still, he determined, he had to go in there.

And so he did. He avoided the back of his storage room, where all his shit from the Revolutionary War was, and instead looked at the newer stuff.

He picked out a few boxes and brought them to the front.

(Linebreak.)

"England! Get down here! Now!" America called out.

"No. I'm tired," England screamed back.

"Get down here right now or else I will pick you up and carry you downstairs!" When England didn't say anything, America said, "It's an emergency!"

England didn't do anything. He was ignoring America.

"I cut my hand open and I'm dying! Also, the house is on fire," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"America, I know that I'm staying with you and all but I just want to enjoy my Christmas. Put out the fire and bandage your hand. You're fine."

"I'm making tea!" America responded.

England came running downstairs. "How are you making tea?" He demanded, immediately looking to the stove and then the microwave.

"I'm not." England was starting to go back upstairs when America grabbed him around the middle and dragged him to the living room. "You know what, England? I found some old puzzles and we're going to put them together and we're going to have fun if it's the last damn thing we ever do."

And so he placed England down again, on the couch, and picked up a puzzle. "Do you wanna do this one?"

England shook his head.

"How about this one?"

"Nope."

"This one?"

"No."

"Well, what do you want to do?" America asked, exasperated.

"It's not the puzzles that are the problem, it's you."

"Sit down. We're doing this puzzle," America said.

"No."

"I said _sit down, we're doing this puzzle_," America repeated. He shoved the rest of the boxes off of the coffee table.

They started working on the puzzle. Neither of them said anything. After awhile America started to feel like he was suffocating. The air could've been cut with a knife.

He put on a Christmas movie. They continued to sit without speaking, just doing the puzzle for awhile.

"It wasn't you, you know. It was your king," America said after awhile.

"What?" England asked. He was already coughing up blood.

"I said it wasn't you. It was your king. Goddamn piece of shit."

England laughed a bit, nervously, before proceeding to cough up blood. "Do we have to talk about this now?"

"No," America reasoned. "I just wanted to tell you that it wasn't your fault. It's not like I wanted to ruin everything. That's just how it went."

"Okay," England said. He really, really wanted to talk about something else. The pain in his chest was spreading throughout his entire body.

"I'm glad you're here, you know. I-I really missed spending time with you. And I know it's my fault that we don't really talk these days. Of course it has nothing to do with the Revolution. It's been a long time and you still don't like me."

England was about to interrupt, but America continued, "I could've handled it better, right?" He frowned. "And I know it's my fault that you still hate me, and I'm sorry. I know you'd rather be at home and that I shouldn't have invited you, but I—,"

"I don't hate you," England interjected. The four words took up a lot of effort, not because they weren't true but because he was having a hard time breathing from all of the pain.

"That's nice to know, isn't it?" America laughed a bit. "I just... Don't get me wrong, I don't regret anything regarding independence. I know it's not your fault, but it was still horrible. Of course I had to leave. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry that things ended up the way they did. It's not like it was anything against you. I really wish that we hadn't fallen out like that. Us, I mean."

England couldn't speak.

"I'm glad you're here, is what I'm trying to say. And I'm sorry. It's selfish, I know. I shouldn't have invited you. I know that you'd probably be happier spending time with France, and that you probably dislike me more than you ever did him. And I'm sorry for the way that I handled things, and I always wanted things to be different but I didn't really know how to make them different and now it's too late and I'm sorry—,"

All the pain was gone. Now that England could speak, he didn't know what to say. He found himself blurting out, "Enough with the apologies!"

America stopped.

"There's no use in being sorry now. What's done is done. Besides, we're fine, right?" The silence spread out from the last syllable and bloomed across the room. They weren't fine. If anything, their relationship was strained at best. Definitely not the same. It would never be the same because of America's independence.

"Yeah. We're fine."

It didn't have to be the same. They were fine. In the end, everything America had been worried about melted away. Their friendship wasn't strained; England didn't hate him. They were fine.

And for England, all the years of regret melted away. America was independent and it didn't affect him anymore, and in the end he really was happy to be sitting in a room with America as an equal instead of a forcibly submissive child.

They finished the puzzle. The tension had melted away. They were just fine.

(Linebreak.)

"Hey, England," America said, waking him up. "England! Get up!"

"What... What is it... America, it's so early."

"Come on. I have something to show you."

"What is it?"

"You'll see. It's a surprise. I found something in the yard." America dragged him down the stairs. "Put on your coat. Come on, you need to dress warm. Don't make me be the mature one."

England put on more layers and followed America outside.

Somehow, it had managed to snow quite a few inches the night before. "How did this happen? We're in Nevada."

"Dunno," America said. He disappeared around the corner.

England rounded the corner, curious as to what America wanted to show him. Suddenly, he was hit in the face with a snowball.

England cried out from the cold, quickly regaining composure and saying, "Ha-ha. Very mature, America!" And still, he found himself ducking behind the wall to scoop up snow.

And thus, snowballs flew back and forth across the yard. After perhaps an hour, they'd managed to use up all the snow.

They went back inside, absolutely drenched and shivering, but laughing all the same.

After getting changed into drier, warmer clothing, America proposed that they make cookies.

That seemed like a good idea at the time.

(Linebreak.)

"Ah! England, how did you manage to light the cookies on fire? They were just sitting there, not even in the oven!" America screamed, grabbing the fire extinguisher from under the sink and quickly putting the fire out.

"If I knew, they wouldn't be on fire, would they?" England shot back.

"Okay... well, maybe that didn't work out too well," America said, slumping over. The fire was out. "How about we do something else?"

And so they went to the grocery store. England bought a kettle for America, and America bought some cookies.

They went back to America's house. England made tea. They watched movies and feasted on cookies and tea.

(Linebreak.)

The next day, America drove England to the airport. "Bye, England. See you at the next World Meeting. Have a safe flight."

"Bye, America. I'll see you soon."

America watched as England left, and then smiled, shook his head slightly, and went back to his car. Finally, everything was alright again with Britain.

(Linebreak.)

England was finally on his flight— after what seemed like hours of tripping on overly waxed flooring, he was finally on his flight. He felt much better than he had in perhaps centuries. It was like a weight had been lifted off of him. Finally, finally, everything was alright again with America. It wasn't the same, but it was just fine.

**A review would be just splendid, everyone. Have a good day and stay safe. Make sure to keep warm as it grows colder. **

**As to why I decided to write this now? I actually came up with this idea in the summer, but of course I wasn't going to wait until winter to write it. So I just remembered I started writing this, and I decided to edit it and get it over with. It's not the best time to publish a Christmas story, but then, for such a widely celebrated holiday I think I'd like to incorporate a larger cast of characters anyway, instead of just focusing on America— so basically, it's just more convenient for pretty much every purpose to publish this now. **


End file.
